


Your Kiss Might Kill Me

by dreamsofdramione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, BDS (Big Dick Sirius), Drinking Games, F/M, Mild Angst, Morning Wood, Motorcycle Rides, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Pining, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: It might not be the worst thing in the world for Sirius Black to witness Hermione's meltdown.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 44
Kudos: 391
Collections: A Very Sirius Birthday





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/gifts).



> Happy, happy birthday [MsMerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/gifts)! I love you, friend! I'm so glad fandom has brought us together and I truly don't know what I'd do without you. I know you gave me this prompt ages ago and it's been dying a slow death in my docs so I hope you like my attempt to resurrect it! 
> 
> _Breathe in for luck,  
>  Breathe in so deep,  
> This air is blessed,  
> You share with me.  
> This night is wild,  
> So calm and dull,  
> These hearts they race,  
> From self control. _  
> Inspired by[Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlqkQRQSn40)__

“What’s got your tail in a twist, kitten?”

Hermione spun around so fast she was nearly dizzy. “Sirius! You frightened me.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The sly smirk that curled around the edges of his full lips was far too Slytherin for any Gryffindor. “Bad day at the Ministry?”

“Understatement of the century.” Grabbing the bottle of Firewhisky out of the cabinet, Hermione poured herself two fingers and slammed it back like it was water. She coughed for a moment, fully aware of the sound of Sirius snickering behind her, before she filled it again and prepared to repeat the process.

“Easy there.” Sirius’ palm was warm where it wrapped around her wrist, pulling the bottle from between her fingertips. “Save some for me, will ya?” 

“As if you need it.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm she could only manage with the taste of firewhisky still sitting on her tongue. 

“Feisty tonight.” If anything, Sirius’ smile only widened as he turned to face her fully, leaning against the counter. “I like it.”

“Shove off.” Hermione snagged the bottle and tipped it back directly against her lips, swallowing the burn as she pressed her eyes shut. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight certainly called for it.

A warm weight settled on her shoulder, and it took everything in her not to flinch. Hermione wouldn’t open her eyes— _ couldn’t. _ She didn’t want him to look too closely. She could hardly even think about what had happened just hours before, she was in no way prepared to put voice to the reason she wanted to get lost in the bottom of a bottle. If she turned around, if she let him examine her up close, she knew he’d see the things she couldn’t say. He was far too good at doing that, looking through her in a way that made her skin prickle and her heart thump hard in her chest. 

“They don’t deserve you, love.” Calloused fingers tickled her temple as she felt him tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. “None of those Ministry dolts are half as smart as The Great Hermione Granger.”

A laugh bubbled up her throat that Hermione was powerless to stop. Many moons ago, life had taught her that intelligence was not a prerequisite for success. Determination and integrity were similarly not required, and often, all but absent in the most successful wizards. Therein laid the problem: Hermione was a witch, not a wizard, without a pedigree to boot, and therefore, no matter what she brought to the table, it would never be enough.

Her deep, hearty chuckle morphed into a choked sob. Within seconds, she was almost hysterical, gasping for breath. 

It was too much. Everything. All at once. 

Frozen in time, the weight of reality—the days, weeks, months, and  _ years _ of being nothing more than a name for the Ministry to bandy around while ignoring the woman underneath—finally pulled her under. Thrashing around in the tumultuous depths of her own mind, Hermione could not  _ breathe.  _

She was falling. 

Or maybe flying. 

Floating through time and space. 

The walls were too close, the floor too far away, and her skin a size too small. 

Everything was wrong. 

Wrong. Wrong.  _ Wrong. _

“Shhhh. I’ve got you, love. Breathe with me. Yeah. Just like that.” 

She had no idea how long it lasted, but her throat was raw and her cheeks were warm when she felt the first tendrils of awareness snake through her mind. Strong arms were wrapped around her waist, and Hermione realized her face was pressed into Sirius’ neck, soaking his skin with her tears, but she couldn’t make herself move. Not even an inch. 

She came back to herself slowly, sinking back into the present as she blinked away tears and counted each breath.

_ In. Two. Three. Four. _

_ Out. Two. Three. Four.  _

She thought about what her therapist said. Catalog each individual feeling. Find an anchor and ground herself. She could do that.

_ In. Two. Three. Four. _

_ Out. Two. Three. Four. _

Her fingers ached, stiff from clenching the lapels of Sirius’ robes in her fists for some indeterminate amount of time. She loosened her grip and took another breath.

_ In. Two. Three. Four. _

_ Out. Two. Three. Four. _

Sirius rubbed circles against her back, leaving a trail of tingles with each motion. 

_ In. Two. Three. Four. _

_ Out. Two. Three. Four. _

His robe was soaked against her cheek. Warm and soft, she let herself rest against his shoulder for one more moment.

_ In. Two. Three. Four. _

_ Out. Two. Three. Four. _

“I—” Hermione cleared her throat and wiped her eyes as she pulled back. Her gaze was fixed on the ground. “I’m sorry, I—”

A finger slipped under her chin and her breath caught in her throat as she met Sirius’ eyes. 

“No need to apologize, Hermione.” Hearing her given name roll of his tongue in that soothing purr made her knees weak. It was always something playful, some pet name he knew she abhorred but he insisted on using anyway. She was never Hermione—not to him. “I’d ask if you’re okay, but I’d wager I already know the answer.” When she dipped her head in a nod, his eyes softened around the edges. “And I won’t ask what happened because I’ve only just got you back.”

Hermione swallowed, her throat burning with the motion, still raw.

“So how about a drink?”

Hermione barked out a laugh. She really shouldn’t have been surprised—it was Sirius, after all—but that was certainly something she wasn’t expecting. Anyone else would have poked or prodded, told her to let it all out or lectured her on the dangers of keeping it in, but Sirius simply asked her if she wanted a drink.

“I’d like that.” Her smile was weak at best, but it appeared to appease him. 

* * *

A sliver of light sliced through the room, painting a line across Hermione’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of a persistent thumping inside her skull. Groaning, she turned her face into the pillow before realizing it wasn’t a pillow after all. 

Her eyes shot open. She didn’t dare move. 

She couldn’t see much from her current vantage point, but she could feel  _ everything _ —one thing in particular, firm against the curve of her back, sent her pulse into overdrive. The pounding from before increased tenfold, evolving into a drilling that felt like it was inside of her brain, threatening to crack her skull open any second. A groan slipped past her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut again. 

This could not be happening. 

She peeked at the arm around her waist, noting it was still covered, then chanced a subtle glance down at her own body, also still clothed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tried to recall any fragment of the night before. 

She’d come home from work. Well, it wasn't her workplace any longer, which was the catalyst for her subsequent meltdown in… 

_ Oh god. Oh no. No. No. NO. _

She’d had a full-on panic attack. In the kitchen. In front of Sirius Black. 

_ Great. This was great. Just bloody— _

Something shifted behind her, and then she felt  _ it _ again, firm, insistent, rocking ever so slightly against the curve of her arse. He didn’t mean it, she told herself, letting her eyes slip shut. He was probably fast asleep with no idea who he was holding. She should move. She should roll off the couch as quietly as possible and tiptoe away. She could pretend like this never happened, and he’d be none the wiser. But there was a strange breakdown between her brain and her body. She told herself to get up, yet her body didn’t budge. No matter what Hermione told herself she  _ should _ do… she didn’t.

It was just a natural reaction, she reasoned. An involuntary physical response that he had no control over, just like she apparently didn’t have control over her own motions when she arched back into him. His breath was hot against the curve of her neck, and his arm was heavy as it laid against her waist. Warmth pooled low in her belly, and Hermione choked back a moan as she clenched her thighs. 

It’d been far too long since anyone had been this close, even longer still since she’d been touched by a hand other than her own. Not for lack of prospects, simply a lack of effort to slog through first dates and awkward small talk combined with the absence of time to dedicate to such feats. 

Sirius’ guttural groan rumbled against her back, and it took everything in Hermione to finally force herself into action before she embarrassed herself. Sliding out from under his arm, she padded across the room, pausing briefly in the doorway to appreciate the view. 

Sirius was sprawled on the couch, his robe tossed across the back and one arm curled up over his head. The spot she’d occupied just minutes before was still open in the circle of his arms, but she forced herself to ignore the impulse to slip right back in. His hair was a mess, rogue strands curling in every direction, and his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. She let her eyes dip a little more, taking in the top few buttons, carelessly left open to expose hints of the tattoos that decorated his broad chest. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, she could see the thick chords of muscles in his forearms, painted with black lines of scrawled letters and images she’d memorised ages ago. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Sirius like this, sleeping and unaware. Merlin, it wasn’t even the most exposed she’d seen him, thanks to his propensity to walk around the house shirtless like he owned the place, which… well, he kind of did. Despite giving it to Harry years ago, his reemergence from the veil just a few short months before had transferred the ancient magic’s allegiance back onto the Black heir. On paper, Grimmauld was Harry’s, but at its core, the house knew it belonged to Sirius. 

After her eyes had lingered on everything from the soft curve of his lips to the taper of his waist, Hermione finally let herself look at the one thing she'd been avoiding. He was still hard. Long and thick, his erection pressed against the seam of his trousers. She blew out a breath at the sight, pressing her thighs together and relishing in the pressure. The slick sensation of her already ruined knickers rubbing against her throbbing lips was too much. 

Hermione spun on her heel and inched down the hallway. She needed to find her wand. Casting a silencing charm was necessary for what she was about to do. She’d find her wand, silence her room, and lock the door with as many charms as she could  _ then _ take care of the ache between her thighs. Yes. Good. Solid plan.

* * *

Hermione’s headache had mostly faded. Left with only a slight throb in her temples, she stirred her tea and tried her hardest not to piece together what had happened in this exact spot the night before. 

“Sleep well, kitten?” 

Hermione’s spine stiffened and she took a sip of her tea. “Mhm,” she hummed. “You?”

“Can’t say the sofa is my preferred bed. It’s a little lumpy, but it had... ” Holding her breath, she wanted for Sirius to continue, not yet ready to turn around and face him. “Other perks.”

She almost choked on her sip of tea, coughing in an effort to cover her surprise. Now she  _ definitely _ wasn’t turning around. Her cheeks burned with a blush she was glad he couldn’t see. Hermoine took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet. 

“Listen I—I just want to say I’m… Well, I’m sorry for yesterday. I know when I came in, I was in a bit of a—of a panic.” Toying with the handle of her teacup, she willed her voice to steady. “It’s just that… Well, I guess you’ll find out soon enough anyway. I—I quit yesterday.” Hermione blew out a gust of air. She hadn’t even allowed herself to admit it yet, much less aloud, but now that it was out there, hanging in the space between them, she felt like a weight had been lifted. “It’s not a big deal, really. I’ve been—”

A hand settled low on her back, and Hermione fell silent, steadied by the simple gesture. 

“I stand by what I said last night.” His breath tickled that spot on her throat again, the same one from this morning, and she was suddenly transported back to the compromising position she’d found herself in shortly before. 

She could do this. Hermione turned and leaned against the counter, her tea all but forgotten behind her. Sirius’ expression softened, and she suddenly remembered why she hadn’t wanted him to see her in the first place. She dropped her eyes to the ground and toyed with the hem of her jumper. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t normally—I just mean that doesn’t normally happen, and I’m a little embarrassed by it all, truth be told so if we could just…” She gestured in the space between them. “You know, just pretend like nothing happened, I think that would be for the best.”

He was silent for a moment, a searching look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, love. As far as I’m concerned, your departure was long overdue. In fact, this is good news.” 

Hermione couldn't help it; she barked a laugh. “Good?”

“Yup.” He reached behind her and grabbed her cup before tipping it back and making a show of draining the remainder of the surely tepid tea. “Leaves more time for other activities. I think I know what your problem is, kitten.”

“Do you now?” The turn of the conversation was unexpected, but Sirius had a way of doing that to her, catching her off guard in the most surprising ways. He merely nodded. “Well then, go on. Enlighten me.”

A wicked grin curved across his lips, and she had a sneaking suspicion she might regret inviting his commentary on the current state of her life. 

“I think you’ve bottled everything up for so long that you’re bursting at the seams with repressed...” He paused for a moment. “Energy.” The twinkle in his eyes was downright sinful, and Hermione had to remind herself that this was just how he was. Sirius liked to play with people, and she wouldn’t let her emotional state make her believe otherwise for even a single second. “It’s no wonder really; working in that bloody department you can’t even  _ talk  _ about for Merlin’s sake. I’ve an idea.”

Hermione only quirked a brow and gestured for him to continue. Now she was curious.

“Give me half an hour, and then meet me out front. We have somewhere to be today.”

Sirius moved to turn, but Hermoine’s hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist. “Wait a bit. I haven’t seen Harry yet this morning. I’m not even sure if he’s home yet.  _ And _ I haven’t exactly agreed to your plan.”

“Yet.” He looked entirely too smug for his own good. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, kitten. We’ll leave Harry a note if he’s not home by the time we’re ready to go and,” he removed her hand, “I’m not giving you a choice.” 

Hermione had half a mind to protest, but it wasn’t like she had any other plans for… well, the foreseeable future. What harm could it do?

“Alright. What should I wear?”

* * *

Wisps of wind snuck through the loose tendrils that’d escaped Hermione’s ponytail and whipped around as they sped down the deserted road. It was an odd sensation, sitting on the back of a bike she’d once sworn she’d never go near. With her arms wound around the wizard who seemed to understand her need for fleeting glimpses of freedom, she felt strangely at ease, despite the high speed of the hazardous contraption vibrating between her legs. 

Sirius Black’s motorcycle was his in every way: worn, dark, shaggy around the seams of the saddlebag, but oh so rugged in a way Hermione found fascinating. Rough around the edges, but perfectly polished for the ride, the motorcycle represented more than just a chunk of steel driven by a motor. It represented an utter lack of restraint, a sense of ease, a hint of that elusive freedom she’d lost sight of over the last few years; the same thing she’d sworn to hold within her grasp after the dust settled on the final battle years earlier.

“Almost there.” If she hadn't felt the rumble of his chest beneath her palms, she wouldn’t have even known he’d said a thing. The motorcycle was loud as it wound down the dirt road, kicking up rocks and leaving a plume of smoke in its wake. With her knees slotted around his and her chest pressed flush against the soft leather of his jacket, Hermione inched closer, closing her eyes and steeping in the strange amalgamation of her senses. 

She’d spoken to Harry before they’d left, and ever the diligent Auror, Harry had instructed her to take some time to herself and asked Sirius to make sure it happened. He’d meant well, always so worried about her, but Hermione hated feeling like she was being babysat. 

The bike slowed to a crawl, but she wasn’t ready to open her eyes just yet. There was something so serene about keeping them closed and letting her other senses take over. The air was crisp, the bike was warm, and the man she was clinging to smelled positively divine. A mix of leather and spice, the unique combination of his cologne or aftershave was embedded in his jacket. He was the only thing grounding her to reality. Feeling each breath he took beneath her palms, she timed her own to match. 

Far too soon for her liking, the bike rolled to a stop, and nothing was left of the engine’s steady purr beyond the residual vibrations thrumming through her veins. Reluctantly, Hermione pulled back, loosening her grip and letting her arms drop to her sides. Even her fingertips were tingling. 

“You ready, kitten?”

“I don’t know why you insist on calling me that.” Playfully swatting at his shoulder, she felt her breath catch as she finally took a second to look around the clearing. “Wow.”

“Not too shabby, eh? Now come over here and close your eyes; I’ve got a plan.”

“Close my eyes?” Hermione almost laughed. 

Sirius leveled her with a look. “Don’t you trust me?” 

Grudgingly, Hermione acquiesced, holding out her hands and allowing Sirius to help her off the bike. “Fine.”

The last thing she saw before she shut her eyes was that same stupid smirk that meant nothing but mischief. 

“Just a little bit farther.” He guided her, one hand on each shoulder, steering her around what she suspected were rocks or roots for a few dozen steps. His grip tightened as he pulled her to a stop. “Okay, open up.”

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was terrified.

Everything was open as far as she could see. Chancing a glance down at her feet, she saw that her toes were nearly touching the edge of the last bit of solid ground before the drop-off. She nearly panicked, until she felt the press of Sirius’ palms curled around her shoulders holding her steady. “Easy now. I’ve got you.” 

Her shock wore off as she took in the sights before her. There was a tiny town in the distance, nestled amongst the trees and barely visible through the hazy swaths of fog rolling off the mountain tops. 

“Where are we?” She didn’t dare turn around or move even a single muscle.

Sirius laughed. “Does it matter? I said I had a plan, remember.” 

Hermione nodded.

“Right, so take a deep breath.” Hermione did as she was told, sucking in as much air as her lungs could possibly hold. “Good, now breathe out. Perfect. Repeat that a time or two more. Good. Good. Now close your eyes again.”   
  
“Really? We are quite literally standing on the edge of a cliff, and even the slightest mistake could—”

“You wound me, kitten. I thought you said you trusted me.” Even without being able to see his face, she could hear the lilt of his smirk. “Right then. Are your eyes closed now?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect, take one more deep breath.” She did. “Now scream as loud as you possibly can.”

“Wait. What?” Hermione was  _ not _ going to do that. 

“I believe the instructions were quite clear. I thought you used to be good at following those.”

“I am, but—” Hermione blinked. Well, it wouldn’t hurt anything just to do it. She’d look silly, but it was only Sirius, and the quicker she did what he asked, the quicker they could be done with this exercise in frivolity. “Fine.”

The first time she did it, Sirius’ booming chuckle was louder than her voice.

“Again.”

The second time, he didn’t laugh. The third time was louder still, and by the time she felt her throat rasp with the effort, a strange sort of rush was racing through her veins. She felt… lighter. 

“Well?” 

Hermione spun around, her pulse racing and a smile stretching her cheeks. “Well?” she mocked, laughing as she shook her head. “I have to say it wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Sirius looked more smug than she’d ever seen him. “Far from my worst idea, indeed.” 

With only a few steps separating them from the bike, only a few moments left in this strange sense of euphoria, Sirius reached out to grab her wrist, pulling them both to a stop. Being so close allowed her to see the way his features softened as he reached up to twist a curl around one of his fingers. She tried not to watch the motion, willed herself not to think about those thick fingers skating the curve of her jaw, trailing down the dip of her waist, touching other…

“I hope this helped.” His eyes drifted from the lock of hair wound around his finger to meet her gaze. “They’re the ones missing out. Not you. You don’t need the Ministry of Magic to make something of yourself, Hermione. You can do that on your own.” 

Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat, watching his eyes drift down to her lips. If she was honest with herself—and that was something she was actively working on—she could admit she felt something for the roguishly handsome man standing in front of her. She could admit that on especially lonely nights, after fielding his flirtations, she'd allowed her mind wander a time or two. It had always seemed like a far off prospect, something that existed only in a fantasy she’d held longer than she’d ever divulge. Sirius Black was a charming wizard and plenty of pretty witches wanted the heir of the ancient house. Hermione never let herself dwell on such pointless dreams. She was practical to a fault, buried under her work and married to her schedule. 

But none of that mattered in that moment.

She no longer had a job or a plan of any kind. Under any other circumstances and with anyone else, she might have had a meltdown, but Sirius had a way of distracting her from that. He had a talent for pulling her out of her own mind that no one else could match. 

Later she might blame the rush of endorphins for the decision. She might blame her lack of useful experience with the opposite sex. She might even blame the man in front of her and the unfair way his hair, even whipped around by the wind, fell just so, framing his stupidly handsome face.

But Hermione knew, deep down, that the only person she could blame for her next action was herself. It was a conscious choice to rise up on the tips of her toes and close the distance between them. 

The kiss lasted for half a heartbeat before Sirius pulled back, his eyes wide, and Hermione felt her heart stop. 

Sirius shook his head. “Hermione, we can’t—”

She didn’t even stay long enough to listen. In the blink of an eye, she spun around and Disapparated on the spot.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione landed in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place and proceeded to ward her door and cast a litany of silencing charms. She didn’t want to know if a certain someone was on the other side. She wasn’t ready to face that embarrassing reality yet. She groaned before flopping back on her bed and staring at the ceiling. 

What in Merlin’s name had she been thinking? 

She hadn’t. That was the only explanation. 

Hermione had let that giddy feeling overshadow any semblance of her typical rationale. Between the memory of him wrapped around her on the sofa that morning and the ever-present chant to let go for the first time in ages, she’d forgotten for just a moment who she was, who he was—and why  _ they _ could never be anything more.

Gods, he was her best friend’s godfather _ and _ nearly two decades her senior. While the age difference meant nothing to her, she was sure society would have something to say otherwise.  _ Harry _ would certainly have something to say on the matter, too. 

Hermione pressed her palms into her eyes and took a deep breath. In the grand scheme of things, utter mortification aside, kissing Sirius wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She’d probably blush around him for the foreseeable future, especially now that she would be spending her days at home rather than in the bowels of the Ministry. She’d see him more often, but maybe immersion therapy was a useful technique. She could rip the proverbial band-aid right off, and they could hopefully move past this egregious error in her judgement. Maybe, she let herself believe, he would pretend it never happened. That was likely wishful thinking, but only time would tell.

Long-term it’d likely fade into a distant memory, but in the meantime, she would probably stay in her room and let the sting of rejection dull a little before she had to face him. 

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to have other plans. His glowing stag slipped into the room and stood at full attention at the end of her bed. 

_ I made tea if you’d like to join me. If not you know I’ll be up there before long. _

Hermione sighed. If she didn’t go down for tea now, Harry would just come up to her room, and some part of her wasn’t ready for that. At least if she went downstairs it was on her own terms, and she could take a few moments to cast cooling charms on her overheated cheeks. She wasn’t crying, so she didn’t need to worry about her eyes being swollen, but her hair was another story. On the back of the motorbike, the wind had felt good, great even, but looking at the aftermath of a tangled mess of curls, she added another line to the list of reasons she wished she’d never gotten on the bloody thing. 

The last twenty-four hours had not gone at all according to her carefully laid plans. In hindsight, she could highlight multiple missteps: from storming out of the Ministry with a box of her belongings, to falling to pieces in the kitchen, to waking up to Sirius hard and hot behind her, to the stupid ride on the back of his motorbike. 

Looking at her reflection now in the bathroom mirror, she hardly recognised herself. With a few quick charms, she twisted the mass of curls into a messy bun and freshened up her cheeks. Her jeans and jumper were still good enough; it wasn’t like she was dressing to impress, after all. 

It was just Harry.

* * *

“Hermione, you know that I support you in whatever you decide to do.” Harry laid his hand over hers and gave it a quick squeeze. “But being an Unspeakable is hard work, and not that I don’t think you’re capable—obviously I always have or I would’ve said something sooner—but don’t you think that’s a rather lonely life?”

Sighing, Hermione pulled her hand back and cradled the cup of perfectly sweetened tea. Harry always made her cup to her exact specifications; it was one of the many perks of a nearly life-long friendship. “I know that, Harry, and I would have done it without complaint, you know? It wasn’t the work that was taxing, it was the environment that was toxic. Muggles have this colloquial saying about ‘Boys’ Clubs’ and that’s what the Ministry always felt like to me. It felt like no matter how hard I tried or what I accomplished, if I wasn’t a man and didn’t have a name that dated back generations, I didn’t stand a chance at making any kind of real, tangible difference.” She took a sip of tea, letting the subtle sweetness roll around on her tongue. “That’s what I’ve always wanted. I just want to do something that helps those who can’t help themselves.”

She stared into her tea cup for a long moment, mourning the loss of the life she thought was all laid out in front of her. She’d planned to climb the ranks in the Department of Mysteries and spend her days learning about things most witches and wizards only dreamed of. 

“How much of yourself are you going to give away before you realise that there’s none left for yourself, ‘Mione?” If she hadn’t known for a fact that Harry and Sirius were not directly related, she never would have believed it in that moment. The way he was looking at her, the lines softening around his eyes and the desperation in his voice, it was all too reminiscent of another member of their little household. “Do me a favour, yeah?” Hermione nodded, holding Harry’s steady gaze. “I’m not asking you to plan out what you’re doing after this or pick a new career path today or anything. In fact, I want you to do something completely different. Something very unlike the Hermione Granger I know.”

She had no idea where this was leading, but deep down she knew Harry always had her best interest at heart. “O-okay.” 

“I want you to go out tonight. I’ll be at work, but I can ask Sirius to tag along so you have someone to Apparate—”

“That won’t be necessary, Harry. I don’t plan to be in a state where I can’t—”

“That’s the thing. I  _ want _ you to be. I want you to go out, have fun, pick up a bloke if you feel so inclined, and really let loose. You’ve been wound so tight the last few years that I’m surprised your head hasn’t popped right off your shoulders. And don’t give me that look; you know I’m right.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, just for tonight. Take one single day out of your entire existence and dedicate it to yourself. Be present, yeah? Don’t worry about the rest of the rubbish, that can wait to be sorted. As far as money goes, if you need help you know I have—”

Harry choked on his words as Hermione surged forward, wrapping her arms around her best friend. “You know I appreciate you, right?” She pulled back, a soft smile tilted on her lips. “I don’t need your charity. I’ve done rather well for myself, and your insistence that I don’t pay rent has already padded my vault. But I’ll do something fun, I promise.”

“Good.” Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, Harry laughed. “I’ll just let Sirius know—”

“Know what?” 

The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck prickled. She wondered how long he’d been standing there, what he might have heard. 

“Just wondering if you’d be up for taking Hermione out tonight.”

The clap of Sirius’ boots was drowned out by the sound of her pulse thumping in her eardrums. 

“Sounds like a good time to me. If  _ she’s  _ up for it, that is.” 

* * *

“What about that one?” Sirius tipped his nearly-empty glass towards the opposite side of the crowded bar. “Ten o’clock.”

As subtly as possible, Hermione turned in her seat, surveying the crowd until she was positioned in the direction he’d indicated. It was impossible to know exactly who he’d been referring to. Just as she was about to turn back around and ask him to clarify, she felt the scruff of his short beard brush her ear. Fighting off the shiver snaking down her spine, she sat completely still. “Brunet. Tall. Sitting next to the couple who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” 

She zeroed in on the man in question. He was… handsome enough. His teeth weren’t quite straight, and his hair was a tad unkempt, but other than that, there didn’t appear to be anything visibly wrong with him. 

Twisting around slightly, relishing in the drag of the coarse hair across the sensitive skin of her ear lobe, she asked, “Why him?” 

At that, Sirius pulled back, his eyebrows arched. “Why not?”

Hermione spun back around to the bartop and tossed back the last sip of her Firewhisky. It burned on the way down. 

“‘Why not’ is a far cry from a viable reason in my book. I’d like to think if I choose to sleep with someone it will be because I find something about them… irresistible.”

“Oh?” 

His smirk could only be described as sinful, and Hermione tried her hardest not to read into the gesture. Thankfully Sirius hadn’t let her act awkwardly since they’d walked into the bar, behaving as if nothing had happened. Which was exactly what she thought she wanted earlier. But somehow his complete disregard for the incident stung worse than the initial rejection. Watching him pick out every other guy as a prospect for her next conquest was now bordering on nauseating. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having standards, Sirius.” Motioning to the barkeep for another drink, Hermione willed the heat rising to her cheeks to abate. 

“I was specifically instructed to get you to ‘let loose’ tonight, love, and so far all you’ve done is sip on whisky. That’s hardly the night of debauchery I think my godson had in mind.”

“Let loose does not always have to mean  _ shag.”  _ Sirius quirked a brow at her, and Hermione huffed. “Fine. Let’s try something else. There’s a Muggle game I used to play when I was younger that I think could be easily adapted into a drinking game. It’s called truth or dare. Are you familiar?”

The way Sirius’ smirk stretched told her all she needed to know.

* * *

Sirius’ arm was heavy around her shoulders as they made their way to the Floo; neither of them was in any state of Apparate. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was holding him up or the other way around. 

He sagged against the ledge of the fireplace and gestured towards the opening. “Ladies first.” 

A giggle worked its way up her throat before she could stop it—though Hermione had never thought of herself as the giggle and blush kind of girl, but Sirius Black brought out the strangest sides of her. 

She tossed powder into the opening and watched the green flames dance to life. “Grimmauld Place,” she called out a little too loudly before stepping through.

* * *

“Truth or dare?” They’d settled on the same sofa for the second night in a row.

“Hmmm…” Hermione tapped her chin in an exaggerated fashion and pretended to mull over the simple question. “Truth.”

“I should make you drink double for these. Other than the one time I made you get that scrawny bloke’s Floo address—”

“Which I will never use and already plan on incinerating.”

“—You haven’t chosen dare  _ once.” _

He wasn’t wrong, but Hermione knew for a Gryffindor she had a rather Slytherin sense of self preservation, and allowing Sirius to dare her to do something was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. “By that same standard, maybe  _ you _ should drink double because you haven’t picked truth even once.”

“Touché.” Tipping his glass in her direction, Sirius winked. Hermione felt the familiar fluttering low in her belly; she was quickly losing her ability to tamp it down. Which was silly. She’d already tried to kiss him once that day, making that error again would be nothing short of self-destructive. “Truth, you say. Hm… Let me think on that.” He paused, making a show of mirroring her earlier actions as he appeared deep in thought. “Ah. I know something. If you insist on being predictable, I guess I’ll have to be the one to shake things up.” When his eyes met hers again, Hermione felt the energy in the room shift. She was absolutely certain he was going to ask her about the kiss. “Why did you sneak away this morning without trying to wake me up?”

“I—” Her pre-planned response died on her lips.  _ That _ was not what she was expecting him to ask, but now that he’d brought it up, her traitorous mind zeroed in on the memory of waking up in Sirius’ arms. Then she realized exactly what he’d said… and what he hadn’t. “How do you know I didn’t try?”

“Ah, ah, ah. It’s my turn, kitten. Answer the question.”

“I—” Hermione licked her lips as she watched mischief sparkle in his silver eyes. “I—” Oh, bugger. There was no way around this. Rather than saying anything, Hermione grabbed her drink and took a big gulp, hissing through the burn. “Happy now?”

“Mhm, you have no idea.” 

Her head was spinning with the sense of whiplash. This morning he hadn’t been awake enough to consciously control his actions… right? He’d certainly been fully-aware of his decisions when he’d turned her down after she’d kissed him. What exactly was he angling for here? Could it be… 

No.  _ No way.  _

She couldn’t even entertain the idea lest her heart get tangled up in the mess she’d made of the situation. 

“Truth or dare?” 

“Aren’t you getting tired of this game?” Sirius rolled his eyes as he tipped back his glass. “And before you ask, I would have said truth, you would have asked your question again, and I would have drank anyway. I simply cut out the middle step. Back to you now. Truth or—”

“Sirius! That’s not how this works. What’s the point of playing if you’re not going to follow the rules?” 

Her bubbling laughter died out as Sirius leaned into her. For a solid second, she forgot how to breathe. 

“As much fun as this game is, I don’t feel much like playing anymore.” His voice dipped into that low, sensual tone. She’d almost forgotten how charming he could be. “Let’s just cut to the chase, yeah?” He grabbed both of their glasses and set them off to the side. 

Hermione nodded. “Yeah.”

“I know you didn’t try to wake me up because I was already awake.”

Hermione gulped. Merlin, she hadn’t expected that. 

“Now tell me, kitten…” He trailed a single finger along the curve of her jaw. When she bit her lip, he pulled it free. “Why did you leave this morning?” Looking up, his eyes met hers again, and she saw something there she’d never seen before. He looked open, expectant— _ vulnerable. _

“I thought you were asleep.” That was the truth. Well, that and the added fact that if he was asleep she theorized he’d been dreaming of anyone but the woman in his arms. “I thought you—that you didn’t know I was—”

He slipped his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his, inching her closer until their noses nearly brushed. Surely she was hallucinating. There was no way this was real. Earlier he’d— 

“Why didn’t you kiss me back?” She whispered it so low she wasn’t even sure he’d heard.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“Oh.” Though Hermione liked to consider herself reasonably intelligent, sometimes it took a little push for her to see what was right in front of her. “So you… because I left?”

“Is that surprising?” 

Yes. It was. Because that meant… 

“So…” Hermione could feel her cheeks flush as she processed the implications. For as confident as she knew him to be, she could see a fissure in his facade. 

“What do you want, love?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? What did she want? For the first time in her life, she couldn’t answer that with any sort of long-term goal or plan. So much was up in the air at this crossroads in her life, but there was one thing she was absolutely sure of. She wanted  _ him.  _

It didn’t take much to close the scant space between them. Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Unlike earlier that afternoon, his responding pressure quelled any of her lingering doubts. 

Sirius took his time as he kissed her. Nipping her lips before slipping his tongue against the seam of her mouth, every movement was slow, leisurely,  _ indulgent.  _ He kissed her like he had nothing else to do in the entire world, like he could spend hours in this state of mind-numbing bliss. 

A firm hand slipped around the nape of her neck, and Hermione tilted her head back, allowing him to take what he wanted from her. For the longest time, they did nothing more than trade panting breaths between soul-searing kisses and every tentative touch. Time held no meaning with his tongue sliding against hers, with her fingers twisted in the rebellious locks of his silk soft curls. The taste of Firewhisky was sweeter against her tongue when mixed with the spice of his lips. It was a heady feeling, wrapped up in his strong arms and barely able to breathe as he guided her through the motions of each decadent kiss. 

Not that she’d let herself have any true expectations of this ever actually happening, but if she’d had to theorise about what kind of kisser Sirius Black was, she would have had it all wrong. Rather than the raging force of an untamed fire, he was the smouldering ash left at the bottom of a burn pile. It was the kind of heat that seeped through her skin, sinking into her muscles and spreading down to her bones. Warmed from the inside out, she felt like she would go up in flames if he didn’t do something… and soon. 

“Sirius.” Hermione barely recognized her own voice as she pulled back just enough to take in a gasping breath. “Can we—I just—” Barely able to string together a coherent thought, Hermione struggled to find the right words. Some part of her was still convinced that this was all a dream. That she’d wake up the next morning with ruined knickers and a deep, unsettling need, but he felt real beneath her fingers and his weight was solid against her frame, so she allowed herself to be present in the moment and ask for exactly what she wanted. “As much as I like the couch, I think I’d prefer a bed.”

Sirius licked his lips, and she watched as his eyes skated over her features. The silence stretched for a moment too long, and she almost wished she could cram the words back down her throat and go back to the slow, sensual kisses they were trading just minutes before. 

“Oh, kitten… I would love nothing more than to have you sprawled across my sheets for the foreseeable future, but,” his eyes met hers for the briefest instant, “we shouldn’t.”

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched and that stupid, sinking feeling of regret came back with a vengeance. “I—Okay—I—”

“But I’ve never been very good at following rules anyway.”

With that, their lips met again, and this time there was no mistaking where this would all lead. Large, calloused hands cupped her jaw, and he tilted her just so, just enough to dip his tongue between her lips and suck every ounce of air from her lungs. Steering them down the hallway, with one hand on her hip and the other tangled in her curls, Sirius’ taste, touch, and scent assaulted her senses. 

Hermione clung to him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her nails scratching lines into his shoulders. He was so much taller than her, and even with him hunched over and holding her, she was navigating the way on her tiptoes, relying on him to guide them to their destination. 

Bumping up against the door, she sucked in a breath while Sirius fumbled with the doorknob. The wooden door gave way, and she swayed back a little before strong hands gripped her hips and pulled her into the room. In a mess of tangled limbs and urgent kisses, they shed their outer layers, tossing the clothes aside with no regard for where each piece would land. Down to nothing more than her undergarments, Hermione realized she was wearing plain knickers and a mismatched bra; she definitely would have swapped the pair for something more aesthetically pleasing if she’d wagered there was any chance a certain someone might see them.

It all felt a bit surreal, standing in the middle of Sirius’ room, panting for breath, and exposed to the open perusal of his hungry gaze. But turnabout was fair play, and she took a beat to let her eyes skate along the ridges of his equally exposed form. He was covered in various tattoos, magical and Muggle alike, some dancing with every movement, others completely still. 

Sirius wrapped an arm around her bare waist and hauled her up against him, shoulder to hip, skin to skin, pressing every inch of their bodies together. “Gorgeous,” he mumbled against her temple, trailing kisses down the curve of her jaw. He stopped just short of her mouth, and she knew this was a game. He wanted her to make that move. So she did—willingly. Her lips barely pressed against his before he lifted her off her toes and took the few steps to the bed. Never breaking their kiss, he leaned her back against the blankets, caging her in and propping himself up on his forearms.

When Hermione reached down to push off his boxers, Sirius pulled back and gripped her wrist. “Not so fast, love.” The heat in his eyes was palpable, burning her very being with the intensity. She could feel him against her core, and even with two layers of flimsy fabric separating them, it was evident that what she’d seen earlier that morning was a trick of the eye—an illusion. Sirius Black’s cock should have come with a warning that it was larger than it appeared, and that was saying something because she’d been thoroughly impressed with the sight alone, but feeling the full press of his length, she knew she’d underestimated just how large it was.

She moaned when he canted his hips forward, that delicious pressure sending waves of want straight to her core. 

“Sirius.” His name hardly even sounded like a word, hissed through clenched teeth as she felt him rock forward again. 

He lifted her hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. “Do you feel what you do to me, kitten?” Leaning down, he ran his teeth along the line of her neck, a series of sparks snaking down her spine. “Tell me you want this.” Hermione nodded. “Tell me.” He sucked a bruise into the side of her neck and she moaned. “Say it out loud. I want to hear you say it.”

“I—I want you.” Breathless and nearly mindless with want, she curled her fingers around his cock. “Want this.”

Practically growling, Sirius pulled back and hooked a finger in either side of her knickers. He pulled them down slowly, peeking up at her from beneath thick lashes, watching, waiting, taking his time. As soon as she kicked them off the rest of the way, he was on her again, each warm breath fanning out over her soaked cunt. 

Watching him plant kiss after kiss so close to where she wanted him the most was maddening. He was circling the area, moving closer with each breath, and Hermione had to grip the sheets to stop herself from threading her fingers through his already mussed locks. 

Finally, with one broad swipe of his tongue, Sirius licked a line straight up her slit, swirling his tongue around her clit before suckling the nub between his lips. Maybe it was a holdover from his Animagus form, or maybe he was just more experienced than she cared to know, but either way, there was no doubt he had a certain talent with his tongue. Alternating between licks and flicks, he drove her half-mad with each small movement. It was agonizing, much like standing at the edge of that cliff, and she felt her stomach swoop and her thighs clench as she neared release—only to have him slow down enough for her to catch her breath before he started all over again. 

She wanted to whine, to grab him by the shoulders and pull him up the length of her body. She wanted to fucking impale herself on him and ride him until she couldn’t see straight. But he continued to take his time, savouring the taste of her and exploring every inch. Deft fingers plucked at her sensitive nipples; pulling and twisting and pinching, she danced along the razor sharp line of pain and pleasure. 

Mumbling incoherent half thoughts, she only heard broken bits of his words. It was a mixture of praise and what sounded like awe. The added vibrations from his lips only served to push her closer to the edge. “Please,” she mumbled, moaning as he dragged his teeth lightly over her throbbing clit. “Please, please,  _ please.” _   
  
Finally, Sirius looked up, and Hermione was not at all prepared for the effect that sight would have on her. His chin was glistening with the evidence of her arousal, and his eyes were blown wide with obvious want. When he licked his lips, she thought she could come from the sight alone. Then she felt a thick finger slip into her and watched a wicked grin curl across his lips. 

“You gonna come for me, kitten? Think I can make you purr?” 

Hermione could only moan as he added another finger and started pumping into her in long, slow strokes. Lowering his head once again, she watched as he worked her right back into a frenzy. In less than a minute, she felt release wash over her. Between his lips and teeth and tongue and fingers, she had no hope of holding out. Nor did she want to, for that matter. As soon as the aftershocks of her first orgasm ebbed to nothing more than a steady thrum, she pulled him back up against her. 

Slim fingers wound around wayward strands of his inky black hair, and she didn’t even think twice as she sealed her lips over his. It didn’t matter that she could taste herself on his lips; in fact, she found it incredibly arousing. The gesture must have caught him off guard, because it took little effort to push him onto his back. Swinging her leg over his hip, Hermione straddled him in one fluid motion. 

Before she could situate herself fully, strong fingers gripped the swell of her hips, halting her motions. “We don’t—”

“Please,” she whispered.

Watching the drag of his throat as he swallowed, she held her breath. With the smallest dip of his chin, she felt the pressure of his fingertips finally ease. It didn’t take much to line him up at her already drenched entrance. He was thick and long, his erection standing at full attention, and her body welcomed him like a missing piece.

Rolling her hips to take all of his length, Hermione moaned as she leaned forward to plant both hands against his chest. 

“So good, love.” His voice was rough, thick, like sandpaper to her senses. Dragging his hands up the curve of his waist, he pulled her all the way down and lifted his hips at the same time. The motion sent a jolt through her core and lit up every one of her nerve endings. She was on fire, burning from the inside out with a need so devastating she wanted to throw herself into the flames. 

Consumed in the symphony of noises coming from them both, she lifted and dropped, dragged herself up and down, rolled her hips, and rode him _ —hard.  _ His lips sealed around the hard nub of her nipple, lavishing the sensitive flesh with attention. It was a strange sort of sensation, taking control over her pleasure and his. He let her lead the way, only rocking his hips up in time with each of her movements. 

She was lost in a sea of bliss, adrift and at the mercy of her own release as she felt her cunt throb and clamp down around his cock. Her name was a desperate cry, spilled from his swollen lips, when he followed just after. The warmth of his release coated her walls, and she clenched around the delicious pressure each time his cock twitched.

They were both panting when she lowered herself to the bed beside him, letting his semi-hard cock slip free as warmth seeped from her core. She was sure the sheets would be ruined come morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about such trivial things right then. 

Sirius’ gaze was fixed on her lips, and after all of the other boundaries they’d blasted through that night, she found it rather sweet that he was still letting her dictate such things. Cupping his jaw, she leaned into a languorously decadent kiss. 

There was no need for small talk or reassurances, Hermione let her lips tell him she had no regrets, and his kiss was affectionate enough for her to know he felt the same.

* * *

“A note? Really, kitten?”

Sirius was still shirtless, yawning and dragging a hand over his face when she turned around and caught sight of him leaning against the kitchen doorway. She cast a quick wandless stasis over the bacon and eggs still frying in the pan and padded over to him. 

“Well I didn’t want you to think I’d disappeared again.” She smiled when his eyes dipped down to take in the sight of her in one of his old, ripped t-shirts. “Good morning.” As he returned her greeting, his fingers played with the hem that fell high on her thigh. It wasn’t short enough to be indecent, especially with a fresh pair of sleep shorts underneath, but if he kept tugging at the hem, that might change. 

They both leaned in at the same time, and their lips met in the middle. Unlike the night before, this kiss was soothing; soft and sensual and  _ sweet. _

He leaned his forehead down and pressed it against hers, his silver eyes darting back and forth. "No regrets?"

Hermione would have laughed at the absurdity of the question if he hadn't looked so sincere.

"None." Once again their lips met in the middle, and Hermione felt Sirius' arms slide around her waist. Lost in the intimacy of the gesture, they kissed for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes. 

"Oi. Get a room, you two."

Hermione’s eyes widened in a moment of panic as she processed the implications of her best friend walking in on their current display. It wasn't like she could say it was an accident. She was wearing Sirius' t-shirt, for Merlin's sake. 

Sirius cleared his throat, tightening his grip on her waist and tucking her into his side. Hermione buried her face in his neck and willed her burning blush to dissipate. "Morning, Harry. You’re home early. How was work?"

"Really, Sirius? You're snogging my best friend in the kitchen we all share, and you ask about work?" She heard Harry's scoff followed by a slight chuckle. "For the record, I'm happy for you both. So you can stop hiding, Hermione." 

Lifting her head from the crook of Sirius' neck, she looked over at Harry. "You mean to say that, erm…" Sirius squeezed her hip. "You don't… mind?"

Both Sirius and Harry laughed. Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

"Mind? Why would I mind?" Harry turned towards Sirius. "Haven't you told her—"

"That's enough of that."

"Wait…" Hermione tilted her chin up to examine the sight flush to Sirius' cheeks. Odd. "Tell me what?"

He smiled affectionately. "Nothing, kitten."

When she looked over to Harry, he had a glint in his eyes. "Nothing? Really? I wouldn't call—"

"That's enough, Harry. Thank you very much. Shouldn't you get some sleep now? Long night at work and all."

"Yeah, sure. Sleep." Harry winked at her before he turned down the hall. He'd only taken a single step when he called back, "Ask him about his—"

"Enough!" Sirius' voice boomed in the small section of the kitchen. "It's nothing, love. I solemnly swear."

"Don't think for a minute you're getting off that easy, Sirius Black. I demand—"

"Oh, do you?" When she stomped her foot, he merely lifted a brow. "Does my kitten have claws?"

"Only one way to find out." With a defiant lift to her chin, she crossed her arms. "Tell me what Harry was on about."

"Does it matter? We're here now, all is well, no need to drudge up the past."

Hermione didn't say another word, holding his stare the entire time. 

"Fine. Not that it matters, and I'm in no way embarrassed, but Harry might have… erm." Sirius scratched the back of his neck. "Well you see, sometimes I forget to use silencing charms, and Harry might’ve heard…”

“Go on.”

“Oh, bugger. Not that it matters much now anyway. He might’ve heard your name a time or two.”

“My name?” Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “Really?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I’m not exactly the subtle sort.”

Trapping her lip between her teeth, Hermione thought back on his little flirtations. It was true; he was rather obvious when she took him at face value. She’d just never let herself think him serious before, but maybe that’d been a grave error on her part. “No, I guess you’re not.”

“In the spirit of honesty,” he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I’d like it to be on record that I’m in need of your services today.”

“Are you now?” Her lips barely brushed his as she spoke. “And what, pray tell, can I do for you?” Looking up through her lashes, she watched Sirius’ eyes darken. 

“I have a small problem, you see. I’m rather shit at silencing charms, and I’m going to need your assistance because what I have planned for today might very well wake up the whole neighborhood.”

An involuntary shiver worked its way up her spine. Hermione leaned forward, cupping his jaw and letting her lips linger for a long moment after the kiss. “I think I could manage that.”

“Truth be told, I don’t care if you do, but Harry might have something to say.”

Hermione laughed. “Good thing I’m rather adept at charms.”

**Author's Note:**

> A hundred million thanks to [PacificRimbaud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacificrimbaud/pseuds/pacificrimbaud) and [Disenchantedglow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantedglow/pseuds/Disenchantedglow) for both putting up with my indecision with this piece. Extra huge thanks to [bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/pseuds/bionically) for the clutch beta and persistent cheering. Guys, she is the real MVP!
> 
> Please check out the other two works in the collection:  
> [Strictly Business by bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AVerySiriusBirthday/works/26225560) and  
> [Unicorn Dreams by Disenchantedglow](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AVerySiriusBirthday/works/26190061)
> 
> Comments & kudos **always appreciated!**  
>  Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](http://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com)  
> THANK YOU FOR READING <3


End file.
